De-aged Duo
by gopadfoot
Summary: John has been de-aged. What about Sherlock? Well, it's complicated...


It was inevitable. If there was a form of trouble in existence, the duo consisting of John Watson and Sherlock Holmes were guaranteed find a way to get into it.

Martha Hudson was the first to notice something off. John had come bursting into her flat, slamming the door shut, and loudly yelling, "Mrs. Hudson, what are you making for dinner today?"

"John?!" the landlady exclaimed in shock.

"I'm huuuuungry!" the doctor whined. "Can't you hurry up?"

"John Watson!" she scolded him crossly. "I'm your landlady, not your housekeeper! And do mind your manners."

"I'm sorry," he said, hanging his head bashfully, a faint blush rising in his cheeks. "I won't do it again. But I'm reeeeally hungry now. Please?" he added, giving her a lost puppy look.

"Are you alright?" Mrs. Hudson asked him, peering at him closely.

"Yeah! Great! We had a jolly good time! You shoulda been there, Mrs. Hudson!" John whooped, and began skipping into the landlady's flat. _Skipping._ Then he began opening random cupboards, and banging them close. "Where are all the biscuits, Mrs. Hudson? I want biscuits!" he whined. _Whined._

" _John_!" Mrs. Hudson yelled. "Would you stop acting like a-" she broke off, frowning in consternation. "Oh, John, you _didn't_!" she huffed. " Did You and Sherlock actually go through with that ridiculous plan? Silly boys, that really wasn't clever." John winced as the landlady shooed him away and proceeded to make some hushed phone calls.

Mycroft arrived first, and was met at the door by a scowling John. "Go away, Mycroft," he growled. "You're a meanie, and I'm not letting you in. It's _my_ house!"

Mycroft exchanged a long look with the landlady. " Yes, that's definitely it. How the bloody hell did they get into that stuff?" he murmured. "Mrs. Hudson," he raised his voice, so that the other man would hear him loud and clear. "John has obviously sampled a dose of an experimental drug, that is capable of reducing one's mental age by up to 75%. He now has all the maturity of a typical ten-year-old child, so please do forgive him for acting like a brat."

"I'm not a brat!" John hollered. "I'm telling on you, you stupid-head! Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft's picking on me!"

"I'm afraid the affects will last for several hours, Mrs. Hudson," Mycroft continued, shaking his head, his sympathy coming across as sincere even to the landlady. "There shouldn't be any severe side effects or permanent damage, as far as we can tell. I hope you will manage."

"Oh, I have the perfect solution. It always works with crabby kids," the landlady said cheerfully. She turned to her tenant. "John, sweetie, I'm going to put you down for a nap now."

Over his protests, Mrs. Hudson firmly guided the overgrown child into bed.

"Where's Sherlock?" she suddenly asked, alarmed. She had been so distracted by John's unusual behavior that she had forgotten about the curly-haired detective.

"My little brother is now an eight-year-old genius-level Consulting Detective gone rogue. I've put my best men on it- ah, here they are," Mycroft answered, looking towards the newcomers.

Greg Lestrade was dragging a very reluctant Sherlock out of a black car. "Alright, Sherlock," Greg was saying. "It's either here or a nice, comfy holding cell. Stop squirming, for Goodness sake!"

As Sherlock reluctantly complied, Mycroft walked over to them and assumed his most intimidating pose, leaning very slightly on his umbrella while crossing his legs.

" Brother Mine, what have you done this time?" Mycroft asked sternly.

"Go away, Mycroft! Eat some more cake, you've only had three pieces today!" the younger brother said petulantly. He reached out an arm to shove his brother away, but Greg firmly pushed the offending arm down.

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson chided. "That wasn't very nice. You've had us all worried, dear, did you know?"

"I can take care of myself perfectly fine, Mrs. Hudson. I'm starving, where's my tea?"

"She's your landlady, not your housekeeper," Greg admonished him. "It wouldn't kill you to say please, either."

"Don't you have another case to mess up, Gary?" the detective shot back in irritation. "You're wife is now sleeping with your accountant, by the way, and you should really stop at one beer, instead of the three you've had today."

"It's Greg, for goodness sake!" the DI retorted.

"Whatever you say, George," Sherlock said carelessly.

"Hmmm," said Mycroft.

"Is he affected?" asked Mrs. Hudson. "Because it's really hard to tell."

The three adults exchanged thoughtful glances. "Well, Sherlock, did you take the drug, too?" the DI asked, folding his arms and staring Sherlock down.

""I'm not telling," Sherlock answered sulkily.

"I don't think we will ever know the truth," Mycroft mused reflectively.

"Does it really make a difference?" Greg asked, and they all agreed that it didn't. Except for Sherlock, who was then led to his bed by the indomitable Mrs. Hudson, to take a nap along with John.

(He pouted all the way to bed.)


End file.
